


Project ENTITY

by Cryptand_Bismol (orphan_account)



Series: Ichor [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, By HYDRA, Description of human experimentation, Dream Meetings, Eldritch, Eldritch Bucky, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Imprinting, M/M, Sort Of, Yes there are tentacles, hybrid bucky, low key horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:39:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cryptand_Bismol
Summary: "He was drawn closer, his nose almost pushed up against the glass like a child at the aquarium. Minutes passed, maybe hours, or were they seconds? The hum was all around him now, somehow louder but gentle and he couldn’t pull himself away from the patterns in the water.A flash of white amongst the dark, with a steel grey iris, a dilated pupil, a slow flicker of dark – a blink, he realised.It was alive.He stumbled back against the edge of the carriage, but with a blink of his own the eye was gone."





	Project ENTITY

**Author's Note:**

> I have posted this before, and I deleted it for some reason? 
> 
> I think it was because the tonal shift was weird, but I've changed things up and decided to post the less domestic meeting portion separately to the established relationship portion 
> 
> Though the end of this is still fluffy as hell and it can be read as a one-shot
> 
> I FORGOT TO MENTION; Bucky was never the Winter Soldier in this, and the Solider Steve faced in DC was another poor POW, but unfortunately he couldn't be broken from the conditioning and he died when the Triskelion went down

Ever since he knew of HYDRA he’d seen impossible things, an impossible side of human cruelty and experimentation that he can’t escape from awake or asleep. Even the horrors of Azzano (the steel tables, the metal restraints still spotted with blood, the faces of the men who watched their friends dragged screaming from their cells never to be seen again) were only the tip of the iceberg.

He fights the nausea bubbling in his stomach at every new base they uncover, the feeling not dissipating even after they been raised to the ground. The government, of every country, willing to do nothing more than stamp MIA on an army record and telegram the families that they should give up hope. All the while these men, entire regiments at times, were tortured into shells of humans, wishing they were the ones who died.

And increasingly, as of late, there were less men found alive as HYDRA grew more and more desperate to succeed in building the perfect soldier. It drove Steve mad, knowing that even as he was trying to save people, trying to stop HYDRA in its tracks, it was his own actions that caused HYDRA to be more ruthless with their test subjects.

But he pushed on, because he had to. Even with the eternal sickness he felt deep in the pit of his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

The assault on HYDRA’s train was seemingly expected, if the number of soldiers was anything to go by. They’d managed to separate him from the rest of the Commandos, and even with his super strength and his shield it was a challenge to defend himself when the guards had so much cover in this carriage. He took out a few of the men with his shield, but tactically retreated further down the train. There was a lot more onboard that just Zola, he realised, passing by unknown weapons, strange bottles of clear liquid, and what looked like surgical equipment. He tried not to think about the latter and the injuries he’d seen on one of the few recovered bodies of the tortured men.

As he stepped into one of the rear carriages, shouts still following him but more distant, he noticed a large tank on the right wall, cast in shadows and empty other than pale green water. The rest of the carriage was open, an ideal place for him to launch an attack. There was a space between the far wall and the tank which he pushed himself into. He counted to ten, and when the final number was up he heard the door open and boots crush against reinforced steel. He waited for them to come closer, but strangely all movement seemed to stop.

He listened for any noise, any sign of an advance or a retreat, but he couldn’t hear over the hum buzzing around his ears. When had that started? It wasn’t loud, not really, it was just _there_ and was oddly comforting.

Then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and was ready to strike.

But- wait. It wasn’t on the other side of the tank, it was _in_ it. Black swirled down like ink from the surface of the water; it must have been concealed by the shadowy darkness. The black changed as it twisted through the water, going from a translucent ink to a thick ooze and he sucked in a harsh breath.

He’d seen that before.

Months ago, a body, a man’s face twisted in anguish, veins a stark black against his skin, something black but blood-like oozing out of broken skin.

“N-Nein!” a voice cried out above the hum, and he shook himself, suddenly remembering why he was here.

He took another breathe and then stepping out, throwing his shield all in one motion. The men were still transfixed by whatever was in the tank and fell like dominoes. He caught his shield and took down those that remained conscious while they tried to gather their wits. Dodging a shaky shot, he turned around to slam the man against the tank, which shuddered but did not crack, noticing as the black recoiled from the shockwave. The man crumpled, unconscious, at his feet.

Having dealt with the guards, he allowed himself to peer into the tank. The black was returning to the empty space, pushing itself up against the glass. Now that he had looked properly he could see that it wasn’t black at all, it was a deep, deep purple. Or was it red? It shimmered iridescently, but so dark it was hard to separate one colour from the next. He was drawn closer, his nose almost pushed up against it like a child at the aquarium. Minutes passed, maybe hours, or were they seconds? The hum was all around him now, somehow louder but gentle and he couldn’t pull himself away from the patterns in the water.

A flash of white amongst the dark, with a steel grey iris, a dilated pupil, a slow flicker of dark – a blink, he realised.

It was alive.

It was _alive_.

He stumbled back against the edge of the carriage, but with a blink of his own the eye was gone.

The noise was more panicked now, a shrill cry which burned his ears. He didn’t know what drove him to it, but he raised his shield, holding the edge out like it was a blade. The tank shuddered again with the impact, the noise in his head like a child crying. Again, and again he slammed his shield down, with little more than a small crack to show for his efforts. He stood back in fury, and hurled the shield with all his might into the glass.

This time the cracks rippled up the whole surface of the glass, water and dark bursting out into the carriage with an almighty roar. The water sloshed about his ankles, pouring through the open door into the next carriage. A smell hit him, mossy and damp like the forest floor after rain. The dark coagulated into a mass of writhing appendages, sliding across the floor leaving a trail of dark ooze behind it.

The mass approached him but he didn’t move, letting it wrap its appendages around his ankles like vines. The sensation was odd, like the memory of touch rather than touch itself, and it was warm, oh so warm, a warmth that was not confined to the parts where they touched, but all across his body. It scaled up him, wrapping around his thigh, his wrists, his chest, before that oh so satisfying touch to his bare neck, a soft almost-caress to his cheek. He didn’t feel the appendages disengage, he only knew that they suddenly weren’t there anymore.

He watched as it attached itself to the wall, attempting to get through the hatch on the roof. It somehow opened it, tumbling out onto the top of the train.

He scrambled to follow, heaving himself up onto the roof. The air was biting, and the speed of the train was making it difficult to hold on. He lay on his front, grabbing whatever he could to avoid falling into the ravine below. Looking up he saw the dark mass, only now it was taking shape, two arms, two legs and a head clearly visible. The dark didn’t fade, just made way for two eyes and a nose and two curled lips.

The face blinked at him, a smile on its lips. The mouth didn’t move, but he heard the words, or perhaps he always knew them.

_Thank you._

Before he could even breath the man rolled off the train into the snow below.

 

* * *

 

 

He blinked awake, glass digging into his back and uncomfortably wet. Falsworth was standing over him attempting to drag him up, with little success.

“Cap!” he said, as though he’d been trying to wake him for a while, “Rogers, what happened? What the fuck is going on?”

“I-” he sat up, looking at the carnage around him. Why was there water here? Oh, the tank! But... it was empty. Wasn’t it? “I’m not sure. I... I think I broke the tank by accident. Maybe there was some chemical in the water?”

Falsworth looked more panicked at that, “Chemical? Fuck.” He dragged him up some more, and Steve went willingly, stumbling out into the next carriage, “Jonesy got Zola and stopped the train. Everyone else is taken care of, so we’re just waiting for extraction.”

He hummed, feeling bone tired, “Is everyone okay?”

“Couple of scrapes and bruises, nothing they can’t handle. You’ve come out the worst, Cap.” Falsworth frowned, “As long as I don’t come down with something from that water. I’m soaked from waist down.”

“Not sure it was the water itself.” He replied, “I remember something... something black. Like oil, but thicker.”

“Hmmm, best get you checked over when we get back, I haven’t seen you this dazed since Agent Carter showed up in that red dress,” he chuckled as the entered the last carriage.

Steve smiled at the sight of his friends chatting amicably on the floor, trying to keep warm as the blizzard carried on outside. They turned to look at him and Monty when they entered, relief spreading over their faces.

“Cap!” Gabe cheered from where he was sitting with a gun nestled in Zola’s back. The doctor himself was handcuffed and blindfolded in front of him, shivering a little, but otherwise unresponsive, “What took you so long? Napping on the job?”

“Something like that,” he grinned, though it probably ended up more like a grimace, “had a bit of a run in with a tank of water.”

At this Zola startled, “Was? Sie setzen es frei?” he struggled, but Gabe was quick to bring the gun up to his temple.

“One move doctor, and you’ll be the one needing treatment.” He warned.

Zola stilled, but spoke again, this time in English, “You do not know what you did, Captain.”

Steve stumbled towards him on shaky legs, “What was in there?”

“I can smell the ichor on you, it’s too late, you fool.” Zola said, sounding increasingly panicked by the second, “He is already too powerful, soon no one will recall him, he will be unstoppable.”

“Who? What was in that tank!” he pressed, shaking Zola’s shoulders lightly.

“Du hast Schrecken auf diese Erde gebracht, noch größer als alles was HYDRA verstehen kann. Du bist verdammt, er wird dich selbst an den dunkelsten Orten finden, er wird dich verzehren, bis du nichts als ichor in seinen Adern bist, eine Ewigkeit des Schmerzes!” he continued to ramble, nonsensical tirades slipping from German to English to unknown languages, shuddering in Steve’s hold.

“Dernier, are you getting any of this?” he asks, turning to his friend, trying to restrain Zola.

“No, he keeps changing language. He keeps saying terror? I think?” he tries, concerned, “Cap, I don’t know what you found but maybe this time it’s bigger than we understand.”

“But there was nothing there... I would remember... it was just water! I’m sure!” he reasoned with himself.

“Looked that way to me, Rogers,” Falsworth shrugged, “But we’ve got more than enough of that water on both our uniforms for them to test. I’m sure Stark will be able to find something.”

While a bit more placated, Steve was still struggling with the knowledge he’d forgotten something, even when the jet came to recover them.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end they forgot all about the strange water and Zola’s outburst by the time they got back to base. And then after that Steve didn’t remember anything, not when he was promising Peggy they’d go for a dance and plunging the Valkyrie into the Arctic.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the crash and waking up in the 21st century, fighting aliens and defending Earth from gods, the discovery of HYDRA within SHIELD and the Winter Solider, his dreams were free of the nightmares he was sure he was due.

Sometimes it’s nothing more than a colour, a shimmering not-quite black void. He’s there, but he’s also not there. It’s not quite falling, but not floating either. A flash of white from the corner of his eye, if he even has eyes here, that he can never focus on.

Other times its more solid, a shape, a wriggling mass of the same iridescent dark, tangling around his limbs. He feels the warmth down to his bones, the phantom touch causing him to shudder in pleasure, almost sensual but innocent in its own way. The whisper of a hand on his cheek, soft and loving, a gentle appendage curling around his neck, comforting like a warm scarf in winter.

Rarest, but perhaps the most vivid, is the man. He’s almost the same height as Steve, shoulders as broad too. He’s usually nothing more than a shadow, again in the same deep lustrous colour, with steel-grey eyes and an amused curl to his lips. Those eyes remain the same even when he becomes more corporeal, darkness giving way to soft, tanned skin. Sometimes he’s unshaven, ragged brown hair falling around his ears, and sometimes the beard is gone, revealing smooth skin stretching over a sharp jaw, with his hair short and perfectly coiffed. They never speak, never touch, just stand close together, staring, breathing in each other, saying everything they want to with a quirk of the lips, a slow blink of the eye and a tilt of the head.

And always, no matter the incarnation his mind conjures up, there is a humming all around him and so, so familiar that his chest aches with it.

When he wakes he remembers, for a brief second, but by the time he sits up the dreams vanish like smoke, leaving him only content and comforted, though with a lingering worry that he’s forgetting something important.

 

* * *

  

SHIELD had managed to locate three small HYDRA bases, the last few loyal to the cause attempting to rebuild a shattered empire. The plan was to strike them all simultaneously, wanting to avoid the word spreading and the agents escaping, and so Steve found himself alone on the outskirts of Budapest, ready to infiltrate. Tony had taken his protegee Peter to Bratislava, while Natasha and Wanda headed to Ostrava.

The facility was deep in the woods, a flimsy shack the only indication of human habitation. Lying on the forest floor, keeping low and alert, he scanned the area for any sign of guards. There was no movement, even the wind seemed to be still. Deciding to risk it, he ducked behind his shield and headed carefully over to the shack.

Nothing. No gunfire, no movement other than his own.

Closing the flimsy door behind him, he holstered his shield and took stock of the room. There was nothing outwardly special about it, the rotting shelves empty and leaves strewn about the floor. Under the debris he could just make out two rusted metal handles. Stepping to the side, he cautiously pulled, opening the hatch into his body.

Again, silence.

Still on edge, he brandished his shield as he descended the steps into the facility. A stark contrast from the loamy and festered shack, the halls were hospital white, anti-septic stench thick in the air. There was still no sign of life, the only sound was his own squeaky footsteps on the over polished floor. Wary, he quietly snuck through the halls, worrying that perhaps he was too late.

As he turned the corner, it became clear that he was indeed too late, but not in the sense he had anticipated. There, laying in a neat row, were four bodies. They looked untouched, clothes and hair unruffled, lab coats pristine white, eyes wide and bright. Their faces conveyed such indescribable torment that Steve had to look away for fear of vomiting. He had seen countless faces of the dead over the course of his life, but this sight had him sure that no God existed, that no benevolent force in the universe could allow such suffering to exist. He avoided looking at them as best as he could as he made his way down the corridor. There was a festering stench, a dense rot which burned his nostrils as he drew ever closer and he fought down the bile rising in his throat.

At the end of the corridor was a room he hadn’t even noticed before, too transfixed by the gruesome sight on the floor. The doors hanging off their hinges, debris strewn about the floor and spilling into the corridor. He paced into the room, quickly realising that this was once a lab. The smell was strongest here, despite there being little present in the lab to suggest why. Glass crunched underfoot, liquid pooling in places and being soaked up by scattered papers in others. The computers lined across the back wall were decimated, nothing more than a mass of crushed electronica. What must have once been a security camera was ripped from its wires and crushed like an aluminium can; he wasn’t optimistic that there would be any salvageable footage. On a large steel table in the middle of the room was a smouldering pile of ashes, stray flecks of paper indicating that someone had burnt any files that the lab held.

Except for one.

Next to the pile of embers was a pristine file, the only item in the room which was not damaged. He cautiously picked it up, holding it tentatively as though it would combust at any moment. Somewhat mollified by the lack of spontaneous combustion, he flicked through the file, catching snatches of words, ( _test subject, serum, rejected, mutations)_ before one caused him to pause.

_Ichor._

He frowned, the word sparking a memory; a train, his breath clear in the icy cold, his suit soaked through, a man rambling in an unknown language, the smell of decaying leaves in autumn. Pulling the file from the stack, he scanned the project title, enthralled; _Project ENTITY._

“ _Hey Capsicle_ ,” he was startled out of his thoughts by Tony’s voice over his comms, “ _We’ve cleared the Bratislava base, and Team Ostrava are just clearing the last of their goons. You good over there?”_

“I’m not sure good is the right word,” he replied, mindlessly folding the file up and stashing it away in his uniform, heading back into the corridor, and pointedly not looking at the bodies, “Someone got here first. The lab is destroyed, along with any data we might have collected. I found some HYDRA agents, scientists, all dead. Can’t tell you how but, god Tony, I’ve seen death in a thousand different ways and never seen anything like this.”

“ _Any sign of who it was? HYDRA covering their tracks?”_ the apprehension was evident in Tony’s voice, even over the tinny receiver.

“I wouldn’t put it past them, but there’s something telling me this wasn’t them,” his eyes caught the face of the body closest to him, on the twisted expression he hoped to never see again in his life, “I’m heading up to the entrance. I just... I can’t be in this hallway anymore. I’m assuming SHIELD are already on their way?”

“ _Who do you take me for, Cap? ETA two minutes. The clean-up crew are going to take a while by the sounds of it so just head back to your safehouse and we’ll contact you about the rendezvous. And Cap?”_

“Yes, Tony?”

_“Be careful.”_

Steve managed a small smile at that, “You too. And make sure Peter stays safe.”

_“That’s easier said than done, the kid’s worse than you!”_

 

* * *

 

 

It was early afternoon by the time he got back to the safehouse, the usual post-mission exhaustion nowhere to be found. Trudging into the bedroom, he began to strip off his uniform, stopping when he heard paper crinkle. Eyebrows furrowed, he pulled out what looked to be a file, pages creased from the haphazard storage. He didn’t remember taking this. Why would he take a file? He must have picked it up by accident, distracted.

He was poised to call SHIELD and let them know about the mistake, but his eyes were drawn to the name, _Project ENTITY_ , and he stilled. There was something about this file, an instinctual feeling across his body to keep it hidden, not to let anyone but himself read it. His head started to ache the more he tried to conjure up why, and he hastily stored the file in his duffel bag, vowing to read it over properly later.

Itching for a distraction, anything to help him get the image of those faces out of his mind, he slipped into his running gear, glad he’d had the forethought to pack it. He had no real route in mind, knew nothing about Budapest really. Hungary was one of the few places in Europe that he and the Howlies hadn’t had to venture to back during the war, and he was glad that it wasn’t another place where he was reminded of how much he had left behind. He naturally found his way to the Danube, taking in the statues and gardens, the happy couples and families enjoying an evening on the river, past beautiful monuments and architecture. He wouldn’t mind coming back here one day, when he wasn’t hunting HYDRA.

He ran the impromptu route until the sun began to set, passing by landmarks so many times he could probably draw them perfectly from memory alone. When he heard a cacophony of chimes in the distance signifying it was getting late, he reasoned he had burned off enough adrenaline for the day, and began to head back.

With a groan from his stomach, he suddenly realised how long it had been since he’d last eaten, too keyed up to bother with breakfast and too busy running to notice the hours slipping away. Thankful he’d brought some forints with him, he slipped into the next café he came across. The paper was peeling on the walls, spots of mould visible in the crumbling plaster. Yellowing linoleum covered the floor, upon which wobbling metal tables balanced chipped crockery. He weaved through the arrangement of tables and hard-backed chairs, joining the short queue being served by a harried looking young woman.

The speckled glass display case, fogged with condensation around the edges, presented a variety of soggy looking pastries and pies. None of them looked particularly appetising, but Steve didn’t care, craving something sweet and starving to boot. He smiled at the server, pointing to something that resembled a strudel and asking for a coffee, hoping she understood English. Thankfully the woman nodded and started up the coffee maker, the machine whirring loudly and rattling like it was ready to break down at any moment. While she waited, she scooped out a large slice of the pastry and plopped it onto a blue china plate. The coffee she eventually pushed towards him was almost oily, with bubbles frothing on the surface. He bit back a grimace at the drink as he paid the bill, leaving what he hoped was an appropriate tip.

Settling at a small table in the corner of the room, he took a sip of his steaming drink and cast a cursory glance around the room, taking in the few patrons staring miserably into their orders. The door jingled, and Steve watched as a man effortlessly navigated the maze of table and strode up to the counter. He joined the small line, humming to himself, turning ever so slightly to apparently watch a flake of paint flutter to the floor, his face coming into view.

Steve almost choked on his coffee, openly staring at the man. The brim of a cap shadowed the man’s eyes, but he could still see the sharp stubbled jaw and pink lips, brown hair tucked sweetly behind his ear. The smell of lichen mingled with stale coffee as he watched the man tap his foot lightly, though it didn’t seem to stem from impatience. In fact, he seemed perfectly content to be in this dreary little café, as though it was a museum filled with treasures. He could feel the floor reverberating, a low rumbling causing light ripples in his drink and sending more paint crumbling to the floor.

He knew that face. It wasn’t as though it was a face he had come across once or twice either, it was a deep recognition, one he would expect from seeing an old friend even after the years had long since warped their features. Wracking his brain could not conjure any memory, not even the hint of a name. It was that feeling again, of thoughts dispersing into fog, a sickness in his stomach as the memories he knew should recall didn’t surface.

He almost jumped out of his chair when he felt a warm touch on his ankle, chair legs squeaking on the plastic floor drawing the attention of most eyes in the room. He fought down a blush, embarrassment quickly being replaced with confusion when he looked down to see no sign of anything which could have touched him, not noticing the rumbling sound quieting. Glancing up once more, he was pleased to see most people had gone back to their drinks, only just catching the quirk of a smile present on the dark-haired man’s lips as he stepped up to the counter. His coffee and pastry forgotten, he continued to stare at him, both enthralled and frustrated.

To his surprise, once the man had been served he made a beeline for Steve’s table, settling a steaming mug of coffee and a plate with several sugar-dusted pastries onto the frayed tablecloth.

“We have met before, I know you were wondering,” the man said without preamble, biting into one of the pastries, juicy purple fruit oozing out, “It was a while back, but I would recognise that face anywhere.”

“Oh, I- uh, sorry,” Steve fiddled with the handle of his mug a little shamefacedly, “You do seem familiar, I’ve just ran into so many people since I woke up that it’s hard to keep track.”

But the man just smiled, waving his hand as if to dismiss Steve’s guilt, “Don’t worry about it, I don’t expect you to remember. We didn’t even exchange names at the time.”

“Well, I can at least rectify that; Steve Rogers,” he said, holding out his hand to shake.

The man tilted his head at the offering, before wiping his juice-stained fingers on his jeans and reaching out. He didn’t take his eyes off him, and there was something about those eyes that made Steve’s heart throb.

A rumble started up again as the man opened his mouth, stronger and more all-encompassing than before. A passing train, Steve supposed, remembering windows rattling in their frames as he ate dinner in the only apartment his mother had been able to afford, what with his medical bills draining the bank every week. The man grinned as the rumble stopped, finishing off the first pastry with a satisfied lick of his lips, “Ah, just call me...” he paused, dipping his head in consideration, “Call me Bucky.”

Steve raised his eyebrow, “You don’t sound so sure about that.”

“Well, the name my mother bestowed upon me is a bit tricky to pronounce in your tongue,” he said, “Best just to keep it simple for now.”

Knowing getting the true name of this man would be like getting blood out of a stone, Steve left the issue alone, “Where did we meet?” he asked instead, voicing the thought that had been troubling him from the start. There were only a few circumstances in which he met new people, at least to the level of familiarity he recognised Bucky, and all of them would definitely have required him to have been given a name.

“Hmm?” Bucky questioned around another mouthful of the rich plum pastries.

“You said we’ve met before.”

“Oh, yes! As I said, it was a while ago now. You saved my life, in typical Captain America fashion.” He stated succinctly, clear that he was unwilling to elaborate further

It was not an unexpected response, and it was not untrue, though he knew Bucky was trying to conceal the exact circumstances. And he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. The more he thought about it, the odder the encounter seemed; the man had approached him after all, full of earnest smiles and approachability, even brought up the encounter of their first meeting but would not afford him any details.

Another thought struck him, unwanted but once planted the idea could not be shaken. Perhaps the familiarity was not one of friendship, but of malice. Was it not more probable that this man’s face was one of many he’d studied while pouring over classified HYDRA documents?

Bucky must have caught the sudden stiffness in his shoulders, for he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “I can almost see each thought forming in your mind. I don’t expect you to believe me but trust me, I am not your enemy.”

He shifted his gaze about the room, taking in the couple departing and the woman in the corner concealed behind a newspaper, leaning in close and muttering his next sentence, “It was me at the facility.”

Steve furrowed his brow, but was hushed before he could speak, a hand curling around his wrist.

“Let me explain.” He soothed, “I have my own history with HYDRA, an unpleasant one I do not wish to discuss, in fact, cannot discuss here. I am... enhanced, in a sense. But I have been powerless against HYDRA for as long as I’ve been free from them. All these years they have possessed a weapon, infused into their greatest soldier which renders me useless. I could not allow them to capture me again, to do to me what they did to their asset. But then the events at the Triskelion happened. And there was no-one to stop me.

“The first place I went was a facility in Siberia. The solider you killed? They were one of many. Perhaps even the tamest, controlled with words drilled so far into their souls that they’d kill their own children if commanded. But the others, they couldn’t replicate the process. They were vicious, rabid almost. One moment they would follow orders, the next they would kill anything in sight. They were relegated to HYDRA’s failsafe, the last resort in the event of HYDRA’s downfall. They looked so human, so harmless in their frozen states. Men and women with families, with ordinary jobs, ordinary lives. Minds altered unrecognisably, warped into unsalvageable devastation. I killed them all. Destroyed any trace of the horrors of that place.

“I destroyed any facility I could find, some buried so deep that most of HYDRA didn’t even know they existed. And after what happened with SHIELD, their willingness to hire known Nazi and HYDRA scientists, to use their sick experiments to expand their own knowledge, well, excuse me if I ensure none of those sick fucks can ever have that opportunity.

“As for today, I found out about the raids you were planning and the data they were after; I’ve been keeping tabs on SHIELD activity for a while. My plan was to make it subtle, you’d never even know I’d been there, and it worked for Stark’s and Romanov’s targets. There was nothing much of interest there anyway, the personnel there were newly recruited, clueless about HYDRA’s experimentation and not worth my time. But when I got to your target it all fell apart. They had files there dating back decades, the original Winter Soldier procedures, the other enhancement experiments, photos of hundreds of victims who didn’t live through the torture. And... and they had my file. Everything about my life and what they did to me. And from the looks of it they were trying to replicate it, albeit they were only in the early stages of synthesis. I destroyed everything in the lab, dealt with the guards, and left those monsters for SHIELD to find.”

He stared at Bucky, taking in everything he had just heard. Whoever this man really was, he recognised the expression of someone burdened by HYDRA, had seen it on Wanda’s face the few times she could bring herself to mention her ordeal. He still had questions, there was still the matter of the _faces_ of those HYDRA agents, but he found himself trusting the man in front of him, “Why leave the file? The one about you?”

“Because I knew you would take it.”

“And why would you want me to? Aren’t I just as much a liability as anyone else?”

Bucky laughed, the table shaking along with the walls, “Steve, you parachuted into enemy lines in a direct violation of orders, rescued hundreds of men kidnapped by HYDRA, proceeded to form an elite task face whose sole mission was to destroy HYDRA facilities, and then you crashed a plane into the arctic in order to destroy the organisation despite it being a literal suicide mission. I trust you with my life.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Steve blinked at him, “I appreciate you telling me all of this Bucky, but I gotta say I’m still at a loss as to why you did. You’ve been hiding all this time, trying to stay under the radar, why come out of the woodwork now?”

“That’s part of the reason, I guess, but it’s more that I’ve been waiting for the time to be right for you” he said cryptically, “And the more I wait the more I think maybe there never will be a right time and I should just get it over with already.”

“Waiting... for me?”

“Read the file, Stevie,” Bucky said, draining the last of his coffee with finality and smiling sweetly at Steve, “And then we’ll talk.”

“But I’m only in Budapest for a few more hours!” Steve said, following Bucky to his feet.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in New York then!” Bucky replied genially, patting him on the shoulder and exiting the café, leaving Steve standing alone at the table, cold coffee and crumb covered plates rattling a little as the door swung shut.

 

* * *

 

 

 **_Mission Report –_ ** _Recovery of Specimen 4254 and relevant intel was successful. Specimen was discovered during routine excavation of mountain paths. Initial soldiers on scene heavily damaged specimen, with 90% destroyed by way of detonations. Remaining specimen was recovered from SS controlled laboratory and all witnesses destroyed._

_Dr Zola given responsibility of research and analysis of specimen._

* * *

 

**_Specimen No. –_ ** _4254_

 **_Description –_ ** _Living tissue. Variable colour; iridescent. Specimen capable of growth, potentially self-replicating. Specimen has no form, existing as a viscous liquid. Exhibits limited extrasensory capabilities, including ability to induce memory loss, panic, and paranoia into subjects within a 10m radius._

_Liquid can be separated from the bulk form, henceforth referred to as **‘Ichor’**. Extrasensory capabilities reduce exponentially when separated from the bulk. Replication of lost mass gives potential for unlimited supply of ichor for implementation into human subjects. Project to run concurrently with the Winter Solider Programme. Designated Project ENTITY._

* * *

 

****

**_Subject_ ** _– Prisoner 03745_

 **_Status_ ** _– Unsuccessful_

 **_Report_ ** _– Subject approved for Project ENTITY._

_Subject was given no medication prior to administration. Ichor was administered intravenously to cephalic vein. Subject’s vitals immediately dropped. Subject convulsed violently, with profuse facial haemorrhaging. Wrists and ankles of the subject were deeply lacerated due to the paroxysms against restraints, and subject was able to break left ankle restraint. Seizures stopped after two minutes and forty-three seconds, after which no vital signs were present._

_Subject was monitored for a 24-hour period, with no change._

_Prisoner 03745 classified as deceased._

_ENTITY I classified as deceased._

_Autopsy showed no alterations to physiology. Cause of death established as rapid multiple organ failure, attributed to cardiogenic shock._

**_Comments_ ** _– Subsequent intravenous administration at half the dosage. Evaluate effectiveness of current restraints. It is proposed that neuromuscular-blocking agents be administered to prevent damage from convulsions._

* * *

 

 

 **_Subject_ ** _– Prisoner 38451_

 **_Status_ ** _– Unsuccessful_

 **_Report_ ** _– Subject approved for Project ENTITY._

_Subject was given a neuromuscular-blocking agent prior to administration. Ichor was administered intravenously to cephalic vein. Facial haemorrhaging began, continuing for three hours, twenty-six minutes and thirteen seconds, after which no vital signs were observed. During this period, ichor was observed to move from site of administration to the heart, exponentially slower than normal blood flow._

_Subject was monitored for a 24-hour period, with no change._

_Prisoner 38451 classified as deceased._

_ENTITY II classified as deceased._

_Autopsy showed no alterations to physiology. Presence of ichor was found in the heart. Cause of death established as rapid multiple organ failure, attributed to cardiogenic shock._

**_Comments_ ** _– Cannot confirm if lesser dosage or presence of paralytic was responsible for the increased life expectancy after administration. Subsequent intravenous tests to be performed at ENTITY II dosage with no paralytic._

 

* * *

 

 

 **_Subject_ ** _– Prisoner 26234_

 **_Status_ ** _– Unsuccessful_

 **_Report_ ** _– Subject approved for Project ENTITY._

_Subject was given no medication prior to administration. Ichor was administered intravenously to cephalic vein at half ENTITY I dosage. Subject convulsed, with profuse facial haemorrhaging. Seizures and haemorrhaging lasted two hours, fifty-seven minutes and fifty-two seconds after which no vital signs were present. As with ENTITY II the ichor was visible beneath the skin, heading intravenously towards the heart. Lacerations to the wrists and ankles were deep, with several broken bones._

_Subject was monitored for a 24-hour period, with no change._

_Prisoner 26234 classified as deceased._

_ENTITY III classified as deceased._

_Autopsy showed no alterations to physiology. Presence of ichor was found in the heart. Cause of death established as rapid multiple organ failure, attributed to cardiogenic shock._

**_Comments_ ** _– Subsequent intravenous administration trialled at lower dosages. Resume use of neuromuscular-blocking agents. New restraints were undamaged, information to be shared with the Winter Soldier Programme._

* * *

 

****

**_Specimen No_ ** _. – 4254_

 **_UPDATE_ ** _– Specimen showing signs of cell death and cessation of replication. All extrasensory capabilities ceased._

_Ichor now in limited supply, requiring direct authorisation from Dr Zola for use in limited quantities._

* * *

 

 

 **_Subject_ ** _– Prisoner 51462_

 **_Status_ ** _– Unsuccessful_

 **_Report_ ** _– Subject approved for Project ENTITY._

_Subject was given a neuromuscular-blocking agent prior to administration. Ichor was administered intravenously to cephalic vein at a quarter of ENTITY I dosage. Facial haemorrhaging began, continuing for sixteen hours, nineteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds, after which no vital signs were observed. During this period, ichor was observed to move from site of administration to the heart._

_Subject was monitored for a 24-hour period, with no change._

_Prisoner 51462 classified as deceased._

_ENTITY IV classified as deceased._

_Autopsy showed no alterations to physiology. Presence of ichor was found in the heart and lungs. Cause of death established as rapid multiple organ failure, attributed to cardiogenic shock._

**_Comments_ ** _– Further intravenous administration to be postponed. Procedure causes too much strain to subject’s cardiovascular system. Craniotomy has been approved for future procedures._

* * *

 

**_Subject_ ** _– Prisoner 56898_

 **_Status_ ** _– Inconclusive_

 **_Report_ ** _– Subject considered unsuitable for Winter Soldier programme due to ailments;_

  * _Pneumonia_
  * _Rib fracture_
  * _Level 3 head contusions_
  * _Level 4 chest contusions_
  * _Concussion_



_Life expectancy of subject evaluated at approximately 1 week._

_Due to aforementioned factors, subject was reallocated to Project ENTITY._

_Subject responded well to local anaesthetic and paralytic administered, vitals normal. Subject was prepared for craniotomy and procedure began as anticipated._

_Upon administration of ichor, vitals dropped and subject haemorrhaged. Attempts to stabilize were unsuccessful. Ichor did not stay localized to administration site and subject’s dermis discoloured rapidly. No vital signs present. Subject’s body destabilised into mass of ichor. Mass showed signs of intelligent movement and thought, but lacked form to be of immediate use._

_Prisoner 56898 classified as deceased._

_ENTITY V for immediate transfer to headquarters._

**_Comments_ ** _– Craniotomy yields promising results. Ill health of subject may be accountable for instability of ENTITY V. It is recommended that subsequent test subjects are both physically and mentally strong. Internal candidates 49275, 03691, 56900, 56890, and 28516 recommended, pending approval._

* * *

 

**_Specimen No_ ** _. – 4254_

 **_UPDATE_ ** _– Specimen no longer of use. No signs of living matter present in remaining material. Specimen incinerated._

_Any prior approval for ichor use is revoked and requests will have to be resubmitted._

 

* * *

**_Project ENTITY to be ceased_ **

**_immediately. Employees_ **

**_assigned to Project ENTITY_ **

**_to return to headquarters at_ **

**_the next opportunity._ **

* * *

 

**_Subject –_ ** _ENTITY V_

 **_Report –_ ** _Stimulus assessments;_

_Fire – Subject recoils when exposed to open flames. Direct application of flames onto appendages causes the immediate area to melt, producing black smoke. Human exposure to smoke proves fatal. The damaged area recovers a minimum of four hours after exposure._

_Water – Subject does not react to contact with water. When immersed in water the subject’s form can expand to occupy the volume of the water present. Suitable medium for containment._

_Electricity – Subject convulses and loses mass at the immediate area of stimulation. Some toxic smoke may be produce depending on the voltage applied. Subject was unresponsive for an average of two hours after electrical voltage is applied. The damaged area recovers a minimum of four hours after applied voltage._

_Cold exposure – Subject does not react to freezing temperatures. The body of the subject showed no indication of hypothermia or frostbite. The freezing point of the subject’s organic matter could not be determined, but is below -30_ _˚C. Samples of organic matter were taken for analysis to assess use in developing cold resistance in human subjects._

 _Heat exposure – Subject showed no reaction to temperatures below 1000_ _˚C. Above this temperature the subject produces liquid ichor consistent with human sweat. Subject’s body bubbled and produced toxic smoke. Experiment was halted at 1300_ _˚C. Subject remained unresponsive for 3 days before immersion in water to speed up recovery. Subject became responsive 12 hours after immersion. No signs of lasting damage present. Samples of organic matter were taken for analysis to assess use in developing heat resistance in human subjects._

_Tesseract exposure - Subject remains docile within a mile radius of the Tesseract or objects powered by the Tesseract. Outside of this perimeter the subject is able to manifest into a form resembling the initial ENTITY, though with none of its abilities._

**_Comments_ ** _– Chemical tests due to commence. Awaiting transfer to chemical facility. Containment methods updated in response to stimulus tests. A fortified glass tank crafted using the power of the Tesseract will be used for containment. Subject will be immersed in water when not in use._

* * *

 

_CONTAINMENT BREACH ON EB912_

_TRANSPORT VEHICLE, PROJECT ENTITY_

_COMPROMISED BY SSR AND CAPTAIN_

_AMERICA. REQUEST IMMEDIATE_

_IMPLEMENTION OF TESSERACT INTO_

_THE WINTER SOLIDER PROGRAMME_

* * *

 

 

Each word of the file horrified him, guilt ridden as he thinks that if only he’d infiltrated HYDRA’s Austrian facility sooner he could have saved some of those men. Nauseated, he recognised the prisoner numbers of his fellow Howling Commandos, etched into his mind from the hours spent at their exhibition, thinking of the torture they narrowly avoided. Any relief he felt at their unwitting escape was vastly overshadowed by the reality of those unlucky men, the injustice at the lives of poor naive soldiers being ripped away, the disgust that the scientists that orchestrated this were hired by SHIELD with no questions asked. The paper crumpled beneath his clenched fists, and he breathed deeply to calm himself.

He navigated his way to the back of the file where a paper pocket held photos, images of each stage of experimentation, taken with complete detachment, as though these men were nothing more than objects to be studied. He didn’t know what was worse, the faces of the men strapped to that godforsaken table or the lifeless bodies labelled callously as ‘subject’, their lives relegated to a mere number. Reluctantly thumbing through the photos, he came across photos of the five men, mugshots taken by HYDRA after they had been captured; none of them healthy by any stretch of the imagination, but whole, with fire behind their eyes. He lingered on the photo of Bucky, by far the most sickly looking, hair matted, eyes clouded and unfocused. He didn’t appear to have any of the wounds described in the report in this photo, and Steve recoiled at the thought of the beating the youthful man must have endured at the hands of his captors. It was a miracle he’d managed to live the scant few weeks he was imprisoned, though, Steve supposed, it was more of a curse to live long enough to be at Zola’s mercy. He carefully slid the photos into his sketch book, vowing to put names to the faces and give any remaining family some closure.

He shoved the remaining photos into the file, slipping it beneath his arm and grabbing his keys off the dresser. He didn’t know how long he walked for, but it was late when he reached a small copse of trees surrounded by scrubland, the night only illuminated by the faint lights of the distant city. The vegetation beneath his feet was wet, dampened further by the dripping trees above, but he managed to locate some wood dry enough to burn.

He tore out each of the pages of the accursed file, watching in satisfactions as the pages curled and burned in the flames, ashes carried off on the breeze. He tossed the photos one by one onto the fire, acrid smoke rising in the air as the surface of each bubbled into a sticky residue before becoming indistinguishable from the blackened wood below. The last photo slipped from his hands, landing with a soft thump onto the mossy ground at his feet.

The image was distorted by static, and he could almost hear the white noise buzzing in his ears. He could still make out a shape, a mass of limbs protruding in all directions. An eye peered up at him from the overgrown grass, framed by the confines of the photo paper and he half expected it to blink. He felt it, the phantom pressure of a tendril wrapped around his wrist.

“Oh!” Steve gasped softy, hidden memories unfurling like flowers in the sun.

Lowering himself to his knees he gingerly picked up the image, running his index finger along the length of one of the tentacles, caressing the skin just below that familiar eye.

The sun was rising as the last embers of the fire fizzled out, Steve sitting in the moss clutching the image of Bucky close. He dragged himself to his feet, pocketing the photo with care, and began the long walk back to the safehouse.

 

* * *

 

 

While Bucky hadn’t sought him out liked he’d hoped, the man was present in his dreams, more vivid than before. So far Bucky had not appeared to him in his humanoid manifestation, but he was still pleased to be enveloped by his other forms, soft tendrils holding him close, a whispering of an unknown language in his head. Bucky smelled so good, thick-clay soil enriched with iron, the undercurrent of pine needles and mushrooms, the tang of wet foliage. His touch was the comfort of frozen grass crunching underfoot, wind tousling his hair along with leaves, the scratch of bark against his fingertips, sticky with sap.

When he woke it was like floating back into his body, warmed by more than just the sunlight filtering in through his window. Sometimes his fingers were sticky and the patterns of ichor on the sheets were like the spidery expanses of a river basin, the bed warm and infused with the rich scent of the forest. It was difficult to stop his grin on those mornings, even as he gathered the ruined sheets to throw in the trash.

 

* * *

 

 

There was something about the room, the feeling of electricity in the air, the soft shuddering of the walls, and the undercurrent of damp mildew. He should be wary, should hold up his shield and be ready to fight, but deep in his soul he knew who was waiting for him.

Quickly divesting himself of his coat and shoes, he followed the feeling in his chest to the kitchen, taking in the sight of him sitting on the benchtop, legs dangling. Bucky looked different to the last time they met, the strong unshaven jaw highlighting his dimpled chin, those pink cupid-bow lips curled into a thoughtful smile, eyes shadowed but with icy blue irises as bright as ever. His hair was short this time, the longer top lightly slicked back with a stubborn stray curl dipping to brush his forehead. He looked younger, but there was a sallowness about him, a gauntness beneath the veneer.

The locked eyes, and the trembling of the walls intensified, energy crackling so intensely the lights began to flicker, “Hello Stevie,” Bucky grinned toothily, hopping down from the counter to stand close to him, “Told you I’d see you in New York.”

Steve couldn’t stop a blinding smile from blooming across his face, “What took you so long, jerk?”

“Hey, even cosmic entities have to take some time to move.” He huffed, flopping down onto the couch and beckoning Steve to follow, “It’s a total nightmare trying to sell an apartment that has the unfortunate effect of making people forget they’d ever been there.”

“Besides,” he continued as Steve settled next to him, “We’ve seen each other every night anyway.”

“Yes, but I’d quite like to see you in the day too. It’s a bit impractical to sleep all day.”

“True. I must admit it’s nice to be here with you. I can feel your energy so much better here. Makes holding this form a lot easier.”

“Energy?” Steve reached out to rest his palm on Bucky’s knee, thumb rubbing in comforting circles, “And you don’t have to be in this form just for me, especially if it’s hurting you.”

Bucky looked at him fondly, “You’re sweet, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s just tiring, like holding a smile for too long,” he said, before rolling his shoulders and letting his appearance change. The soft pale skin seemed to ripple away, revealing that dark lustrous colour of his natural skin. His general form stayed much as it was, humanoid limbs shadowed in oily ichor, but growths began to bubble up from his skin, extending into smooth tendrils. The base of the appendages seemed to roam across his body, never settling. He stretched a thin tentacle out, curling around Steve’s nearby wrist with a warm and familiar touch, “You exude energy, fiercer than the brightest supernova _._ I never had the strength to be so corporeal, not while I was with HYDRA, reduced to a barely mobile essence. I was drawn to you from the moment you entered that carriage, though I had no idea what would happen when I touched you. Something passed from you to me, slipped between our souls and entangled our lives together. Energy transferred into me and suddenly I could breathe again, I could corporealize into this in-between state, not quite the man and not quite the monster.”

“Is that how we can share dreams?” Steve asked, leaning into Bucky as tendrils twisted around his broad shoulders. He could feel his shirt dampening with the fluid exuding from the tentacle, accepting the inevitable staining of his clothes and furniture.

“It’s not so much sharing dreams, as existing in another plane of reality simultaneously with our own. An astral projection of sorts. A link across the cosmos connecting us together, the space between space.”

“Ok, I can sort of understand that in an abstract sense.”

“Don’t worry, you’d probably lose all brain function if you were to ever witness it in reality. It’s amazing what humans can conceptualize in dreams but will drive them insane in actuality.”

Steve frowned, “Hmm, maybe I’ll pass on that day trip then.”

Bucky laughed, rippling along his appendages, “I’ll keep it to dreamland just for you, Stevie.”

They settle into comfortable silence, mirroring the quiet peace of their dreams.

“So,” Steve began, “Do you plan on staying in New York? There’s always a place here for you to stay, if you want.”

“I would like that a lot.” Bucky smiled softy.

 

* * *

 

 

It was as though they’d been friends for years, and in a way, they had. He used to sit alone on an evening, trying to catch up on movies he’d missed during his time while frozen, feeling more isolated than ever. But now he found himself itching to get home, fidgeting through briefings, wanting to be laughing with Bucky on the sofa, or sketching him as he read, or talking about nothing long into the night.

He was lucky that he had more than enough money to cover the increased food bill. Not that Bucky didn’t contribute, but his mother would have baulked at the volume of food the pair ate on a daily basis. Steve generally ate any meal that was put in front of him, just in increased portions, but Bucky was far more picky. He refused to eat meat or fish, choosing instead to consume obscene amounts of fruits, vegetables, and smoothies, often wrapped in sugary pastry or baked into pies. Steve was suddenly glad for modern day production methods, sure that he would have single-handedly caused a food shortage in the forties. Hell, he was half convinced he would cause one now.

It wasn’t always easy, of course.

Some days Bucky would fill the bathtub to the brim, slipping into the water and his body into that same gelatinous ink as the day they met, spending the entire day in misery. The low whine would strum through the apartment, seeping into the other floors and even making the neighbourhood animals cower and whimper. Steve reluctantly left him alone, longing to comfort the man but knowing all too well that he needed his space. Occasionally Bucky would reach out one long tentacle from his spot in the bathroom, curling it around Steve’s ankle or wrist as he passed and tugging him close. On those days Steve would sit perched on the edge of the bath and swirl his hand through the water until his fingers were wrinkled and stained with ichor.

Bucky often lost track of time, going out for a walk or for food and not returning for hours, or sometimes even days on end. Steve tried not to panic too much in those moments, worried that something had happened to him, only knowing he was still alive when he appeared in his dreams. He would always return with a broad smile though, his human façade slipping off like a coat, and Steve never could stay mad at him for leaving. Afterwards, Steve would cling to him when they sat on the couch together, quietly following him into his bedroom after the film ended and huddling close to him in his sleep.

Steve had his bad days too. When a mission had innocent casualties, when his team got hurt, when the weight of life in the future got too much for him to bear. He would spend the day listlessly wandering about the flat, mind spiralling into dark thoughts. Bucky would try to help, talking to him non-stop, trying to rouse him into conversation, but Steve would usually be too clouded by his own thoughts to respond. By the end of the day, Bucky would have Steve’s head resting in his lap, gently stroking his hair, and whispering softly to him. They would sometimes fall asleep together on the sofa, but more often than not they would shuffle into Steve’s room and hold each other as they slept.

 

* * *

 

 

They had been living together for a few months, and now it didn’t take the excuse of a bad day for one of them to end up in the other’s bed. The connection had been there for seventy years, the undercurrent of something more between them, so it wasn’t a surprise that the feelings between them turned to love.

It wasn’t a big moment, no grand gestures or romantic words, just an otherwise unremarkable day. They’d seen _Robin Hood_ before, but it was one of Bucky’s favourites and was nice to have on while they ate. Bucky was busy devouring his second apricot crumble, humming delightedly at the sticky sugary dessert, while Steve was settled into his side. Swiping the last of the juice off the fork, he set the dish aside, pulling his legs up to rest on the length of the sofa, apologising softly for jostling him. He wrapped tendrils around him, smiling at the archery tournament playing out on screen.

Steve looked up at Bucky from the place against his chest, admiring the way the light of the TV illuminated his lustrous skin, a sparkle in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips. It just seemed right, to stretch up and place a kiss to the corner of that lascivious mouth. He lingered there, feeling the light puff of breath on his lips as Bucky turned his head ever so slightly to look at him. He leaned in again, deepening the kiss when Bucky parted his lips and stroked Steve’s cheek with gentle fingers.

When the kiss broke they stayed close, noses brushing and hands roaming sweetly. They didn’t speak, no audible declarations of love needed. The feelings between them were plain to see, communicated with the same affectionate gazes they had shared in their dreams. Bucky kissed him twice more, loving and light, before Steve tucked his head under his chin and brushed lips against the smooth skin of his neck. They cuddled close together for the rest of the film, sharing tender kisses.

Once the film was over, Steve pulled himself away from the embrace, pecking Bucky on the head before gathering their dirty dishes and depositing them in the kitchen sink. He hummed happily when arms wrapped around his waist, rich earth scent igniting his senses and making his heart race. Bucky rumbled sleepily against his back and Steve tilted his head back to rest on his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of tentacles caressing his skin. It was a while before they parted, tiredness evident in the heaviness of Bucky’s arms around him. Steve led Bucky to his room, taking in the sight of drooping appendages with a fond smile. Not bothering to undress, they settled into bed, holding each other, and trading sleepy kisses until they both surrendered to sleep.


End file.
